


Love in the End Times

by wraith816



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Evil Sam Winchester, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-21
Updated: 2009-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wraith816/pseuds/wraith816
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe there isn't an old Sam for Dean to reach, no new Sam to banish. Maybe there is just Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the End Times

**Author's Note:**

> For bloodnfire, who asked for evil!Sam/Dean at the 2009 fandom free-for-all. Thanks very much to switch842 for looking this over.

In Atlanta, they fuck in a deserted hotel. It's a nice place, way out of their old budget, with soft sheets and a jacuzzi tub and mints on the pillows still left from when everyone fled the city. Sam kisses Dean slow and thorough like they've got more than these few stolen hours, like there's no underlying desperation between them now. Sam is steady and gentle and like nothing they've ever been before as he pushes Dean down against the bed, slides his fingers and then his cock into Dean's body. Dean clutches and whimpers through it, pleads to come with each stroke of Sam inside him. Sam breathes out Dean's name near the end, says it with a soft reverence like it's the one prayer he has left.

After, when they've cleaned up and dressed again, when Sam is inches from the door, he says, "What you're hoping – it won't work. There's the just the easy way and the hard way, now. Those are the options, and it's always your choice."

* * * * *

  
The battle for Salt Lake City doesn't go well for their side. They lose at least half, though Dean's group fares better than most, the way he wields the Knife, takes down demon after demon as they flood through the doors. But it's like one lone wall against a hurricane, and half of them are gone within a few hours, possessed or killed or injured so badly there's no point in even trying. The survivors retreat on Dean's orders, leave the city to the demons and other things Hell's brought up with them. Camp for the night is cars, tents, blankets stretched out over dirt. They spray paint protective symbols on trees, dig devil's traps into the ground, pass around hex bags for what little peace of mind it can give them. Dean has the Impala, parks it far from everyone else like that can give him some small amount of privacy.

After midnight, Sam's there, sitting shotgun next to Dean like he always has. He doesn't appear suddenly, doesn't pop into existence where he wasn't before, he's just _there_ – like he was in his seat all along and this is just the first time Dean's noticed. No words as Sam opens the door, swings his legs out to rest his feet on the ground though he doesn't get up. Silence as Dean gets out of the car, walks around to the passenger side and sinks to his knees.

He runs his palm over Sam's thigh, up to where Sam's erection begins to bulge against his jeans, and then he's reaching for the zipper, and Sam murmurs something that sounds like, " _Yes_." He takes Sam's dick out, trails his fingers along the length before he takes it in his mouth, works his tongue around the head. Sam touches Dean's shoulders, the back of his neck, moans loud enough that it should wake the rest of the camp. But they aren't interrupted, and Dean can pretend this is like before, that they're parked in some nowhere, just the two of them, back when there was no purposeful hope to this, when Dean didn't have to feel such crushing guilt for still wanting it.

Once Sam comes, he pulls Dean up from the ground, wraps his hand around Dean's cock, strokes him to orgasm right there, licks the come from his fingers when Dean's done. He smiles – _look what I did_ – and it's like a punch.

"We can't do this anymore," Dean says. "I can't do this."

Sam stands, crossing his arms over his chest with a look something like defiance. "Then say no. If you've given up, then tell me no right now and I won't come back again."

And there it is. Dean can't say no, can't even contemplate it, not when maybe, _maybe_ this is the thing that will save his brother, save them _all_. Because maybe this thing between them is the one last tether tying Sam to who he used to be. Never mind how Dean is fucked up and needy and lets it happen, all for that old feeling of _together_.

"You can't say it, can you? Still think you can save me?" Sam asks, smiling again, this time with a predator's edge to it. "I'll see you soon, Dean." And between one breath and the next, he disappears.

In the dark hours of the morning, Dean gets into the car and _drives_. He leaves the Knife behind at the camp. The others need its protection more than he does anyway – orders are no that demon is to touch the Boy King's brother.

* * * * *

  
Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Afterward –

"How's Ellen?" Dean asks, though he's not sure he wants to know the answer.

"Alive and unharmed, just like I promised." Sam splays his hand across Dean's bare chest, rubs up and down like anything he does anymore could be soothing.

"And Cas?"

It takes Sam a moment. "Alive," he answers. "Not exactly unharmed, but you probably guessed that already. They say we're close to figuring out what makes that weapon of his tick. Maybe we'll have our own stash of angel-killers soon enough."

"Don't."

"Okay, I get it; no work talk. Social, then? You talk to Bobby lately? How's he doing?"

Dean snorts. "I'm not an idiot. I know better than to tell you."

"Well it doesn't matter anyway; we're getting close to him. And trust me, warning him won't help." Sam curls closer, resting his hand on Dean's hip, pressing a soft kiss to Dean's shoulder. "Remember the summer we lived here?" he asks suddenly.

"The year you were fifteen," Dean answers.

"Yeah. You worked at that copy place, taught me to make IDs."

"And you complained the whole time."

"That was the year…" Sam trails off, doesn't finish it, though Dean thinks he can imagine what came next. That summer, when things twisted around and changed and led them hurtling down a road that eventually got them here, naked and entwined. Sam says, "We're leveling this area tomorrow; you might wanna leave now."

"And miss all the fun? Nah. I'll stick around."

* * * * *

  
In Mississippi, it's in a tiny, plain church with Sam seated on a pew and Dean in his lap. They're both half clothed still as Dean fucks himself down onto Sam, kisses him hard and sloppy, heedless of where they are, and when he brokenly calls out Sam's name, it echoes through the empty room. They move together, languid and warm, and Dean knows this is the way he deludes himself. It's how he pretends.

They're both close when there's a sound somewhere behind Dean, footsteps and then a surprised gasp. Dean stills, just for a moment, awkward and shamed, but Sam flicks his fingers, casual and easy, and then there's a loud crack that reverberates through the church, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

Dean wants to stop, to turn and see for himself one more piece of evidence for what his brother's become, but Sam thrusts up just right then, holds tighter and says, "Dean, _Dean_ ," like nothing's changed. It's so fucking sick, knowing exactly what just happened, what Sam _did_ , but Sam is inside him, around him, and there's no way to stop. Sam comes quick after that, warm and slick inside Dean, and then his hand is around Dean's dick, tight and good, and Dean comes too, orgasm dragged up reluctantly from him. Sam _killed_ somebody just minutes ago, and Dean's coming, and all he can think is of the time when they had nothing but the road, the hunt, and each other.

When Sam's gone, Dean's left with the body where it fell to the floor. It's a guy, maybe just out of his teens, and his neck is bent at some sickeningly unnatural angle. He drags the body outside, builds a pyre with some branches, spills salt and lighter fluid. He stands by as it burns down to ashes.

* * * * *

  
Outside an abandoned truck stop somewhere near Buffalo, Sam arrives with black eyes and innocents' blood on his clothes. The eyes fade, eventually, but the blood doesn't go away. They thrust against each other in the dirt, gravel digging into Dean's back as Sam loosely holds him down, as Sam says Dean's name over and over, looks at him like Dean is still all he sees in the world.

When Dean looks at Sam, he sees his baby brother, sees the man who's slowly killing everything around them bit by bit. Maybe there isn't an old Sam to reach, no new Sam to banish. There is just Sam, the little boy who Dean raised and who grew up to end the world. Maybe that's everything Dean needs to learn.

* * * * *

  
In Georgia, Utah, Mississippi, Wisconsin, Sam makes an offer.

"You know this would stop if you'd just come with me. All the battles, all the blood – it's only because you still think you can fight. Say that you're mine and I'll cut to the end of this, make the rest quick and painless for everyone. And it'll be me and you again. Like it should be."

Outside that broken-down truck stop in New York, two years and six months after the world ended, Dean says, "Okay, Sammy. Okay." He seals it with a kiss.


End file.
